Date: Thursday, 29 January, 2004
From: "Lightfoot" <>

DISCLAIMER: RS is currently owned by Warner Brothers,
yadda yadda yadda...and they're PUTTING THEM ON DVD
SOON! (I know this has nothing to do with the
disclaimer, but I thought I'd mention it). Anyway,
not making a profit, so don't sue! Also, don't
plagiarize. It's not nice and God don't like ugly!

Okay, sorry about not posting last night, but had
papers to grade for my kiddies...anyway, I'm trying
hard to make this a good story, so hope you like the
lastest chapter...


copyright 2004 by Conner MacBride


Remington Steele walked slowly through McCallum Park,
drowning out the sounds of enjoyment by everyone else.
He walked under two elms which formed an arch of
shade. Somewhere in the back of his mind, her heard a
young woman's laughter. He glanced around at the maze
of trees; a young long-legged woman, darted through
the trees, her purple skirt flipping up to reveal much
slender thigh. She stopped and leaned on a tree,
breathing heavily and smiling. She looked up at him,
grinning, her pretty, dark eyes flashing.
Steele shook his head, clearing his brain of visions
past which came up to haunt him. He closed his mind
off to the beauty of the day and the sweetness of
memory. Why had he even come here? Why had he even
come back to Los Angeles? Damn that little girl for
looking so much like Laura. And damn Laura's memory
for refusing to die and let him have the dull peace of


Kelly drummed her green nails on the police help
desk. She had exhausted all her resources and had
aggravated Julia pretty much to death. And besides,
why hadn't she thought of it before? Of all things to
forget, why the police report? It was public record
anyway. She felt a slight pang of conscience,
remembering the pain in Remington Steele's eyes.
Kelly pulled out the last clipping of the two of them
together. He had loved her once, if this photo was
any indication. And Laura, well, it was almost as if
she was the hidden secret of Remington Steele. Still,
Kelly was fascinated by her, had been intrigued from
the moment Julia had said Laura Steele had kinda come
across like Audrey Hepburn's Sabrina. Kelly had
always liked Audrey Hepburn.
"Here." Kelly waved at the clerk
"What?" He stared at her boredly.
/Service with a smile, as usual./ "I need to look at
an old case file."
"Is the case closed."
"Yep." Did this guy even blink?
"What's the case?" Apparently not.
"The Steele murder. Laura Steele? Happened in
"Right." He disappeared to find the file and make a
Kelly looked around, bored out of her mind. Okay.
Usual parade of druggies, hookers, and gang members.
One guy had a spike through his lip. Nice.
After approximately an ice age, the clerk returned
from whatever abyss the files were stored in.
"That'll be ten dollars."
Kelly shoved Alexander Hamilton at him. "Thanks for
the help."
"We aim to please."
Kelly rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to
compare the clerk to a corpse. She walked out


January 28, 2020

Steele sat in his armchair, drinking a fine scotch
purloined in Europe some fifteen years ago. He hated
today. Every year, this day came barreling through
with the torment of Hell and the pain was refreshed
and renewed. He had (foolishly) thought at one time
that it would subside once he was out of Los Angeles
and away from her memory. He had been wrong. Her
essence had touched everywhere. For years he couldn't
go anywhere without seeing her in the shadows, without
smelling the spicy smell of Shalimar she had become
fond of. Europe, South America, even Australia. She
haunted him and would give him no peace. He had lost
himself in women, women who were as different from her
as possible. And still...
And then he had returned here. She had taken
everything from him. And now, he sat here.
Sixty-nine years old and waiting to die. And it would
be the memory of the whore he had loved once that
would kill him. Somehow, drunkenness seemed
infinitely preferable to the misery of her memory.


The file was pretty mundane stuff. Pictures of
everything, reports and signatures. Not a line out of
place, not one little oddity. But at least it was
Kelly leaned against the counter, flipping through
the files, waiting for her Ramen Noodles to heat up.
She laid the copies on her table. Her eyes drifted
over them, trying to put the pieces together. Kelly
munched on her noodles, scrutinizing the photos.
Laura Steele found naked and prone on the bed, shot
twice in the back. Bruises on her wrists had
indicated a struggle of some sort, as had the bruise
on her forehead and her busted lip. Report taken by
del-Kelly couldn't make out the signature. She
continued to look at the photos.
Roselli found in chair, face blown off, gun
apparently held at an 89 degree angle under chin. Gun
of a .38 caliber found on the floor by the chair
having apparently been in his left hand.
Kelly sank back in her chair, digesting what she had
just read. She pulled the picture of the Steeles on
the courthouse steps out of her pocket, laying it next
to the photo of a dead Laura Steele. Something had
changed in the months between that photo and the
murder photo. Or it wasn't making sense. Unbidden,
the image of an enraged, hurt old man who used to br
beautiful came to her mind.
/What if she really was just a golddigging slut?/ For
some reason, that thought upset Kelly Landry more than
it probably should have. She didn't know why.
Just.../Oh for crying out loud!/ She jumped up and
threw the empty bowl in the sink. /Why do I even care?
It's a stupid paper! He's a mean old man and she's
not even alive any more! It's just a stupid paper./
She shoved her papers off the table, aggravated by
her romanticizing of a murder case. She was supposed
to be trying to be a forensics scientist for God's
sake. The papers lay at her feet, a scatter of print
and pictures. That same picture of the Steeles lay on
top. She bent down and picked it up, trying to divine
some clue about what their relationship had really
been like. Only Steele and Laura would ever really
know. She looked at the faces for what must have been
the hundredth time. The case read like some twisted
Wuthering Heights.
Samwise came padding into the room, sniffing at the
papers on the floor. She pushed the old German
Shepherd away. "Git Sam! Go to your bed! Go on!"
He nuzzled her arm, whining for attention. Groaning,
she plopped on the floor, scruffing her favorite
doggie companion's ears. With the other hand, she
started cleaning up the mess, pulling aside that
clipping of her favorite photo. In went the murder
photos, the library clippings, the police reports,
/What the hell?/ Kelly noticed for the first time a
written postscript at the bottom of the report.
Nothing much, only three lines and a signature. She
read the postscript. Maybe someone had forgotten to
enter something in the official report. Her brown
eyes narrowed as she read each word.
"It is this officer's belief that this case needs to
be looked at again.
-Det. James Jarvis, 1-28-90"
Nothing else. No reasons given and nothing else
mentioned. She grabbed at the case files, her sudden
action sending Samwise skittering to his doggie bed.
She read the case file of the murder in detail again.
Nothing usual. Still, some guy named Jarvis found it
necessary to have a dissenting opinion. Kelly bit her
lip. Apparently, someone held a very different view
of the Steele murder. She wondered if Detective Jimmy
Jarvis was still alive.

tbc . . .